Top_Heavy's World

The morning was eerie, sort of a strange feeling in the air. I felt really good, everything went well at breakfast and during the morning rituals, we quickly found a fantastic Common Duiker, pushing the 5"+ size and I made a great stalk. I still don't know what happened, but when the recoil was gone, so was my trophy. I missed it clean and it was gone into the thickest bush in Zimbabwe. The morning was still young, the fog barely lifting and the sun only a sliver over the mountain tops, so we worked our way down the valley towards the big burn that I had hunted before. A troop of baboons were strung across the valley as they moved from one mountain to a huge rock outcropping. The troop leader was the biggest male I saw the entire trip. His musculature was impressive at over 300 yards. He stood almost a full head taller than any other in his troop. He held his ground as we drove to about 250 yards. He finally started across the open burn, the last of the entire troop. I hadn't attempted a shot of this distance with the .375 before, but Allan merely said "Aim spot on"... I looked at the distance, the drop should be atleast 4"... I need to aim a few inches high... The stides of the baboon were amazingly fast. Arms outstretched, both at the same time. The hands were now feet as the back legs were lifted and swung forward until they were on the ground, then the entire motion repeated. I was amazed at how graceful this motion was, almost smooth in a very unorthodox way. I held a few inches high as my gut told me and .... I had the second miss in less than an hour! The bullet clearly was high, surprisingly the lead was perfect as it was right behind the shoulder, but it was high and the bullet made a large dust trail as it skipped for 100's of yards. The troop made it to safety and the large male was out of sight.
The gun is off was my only thought. I don't miss and to miss twice can't be a shooter problem. "I am going to shoot at that big rock over there" I said as I carefully took aim off of the dash of the truck. The shot was perfect, a very dead rock! With confidence in my gun, my personal confidence was waining. I hate missing.
Less than an hour later we came across a set of tracks that stirred some serious talk amongst the trackers and Allan. The tracks looked like a very big cow to me, the largest tracks I had seen in the loose dirt roads other than rhino tracks. "Big Eland Bull tracks" was Allan's sumerization of the conversation, as he circled the track with a long stick. The lead tracker picked up a couple sticks and carefully broke them into measurements that corresponded with measurements of the tracks. I watched silently, I wanted to really learn from this lesson. The truck was parked, funny, even in the middle of a 40,000 acre private ranch in the middle of Africa, where no other vehicle is to be, we pulled off the dirt road. I took my rifle, my gun bearer carried my 7up(I was nervos of drinking any water there so I only drank boiled water in tea or 7up)and the shooting sticks, his binoculars on a string around his neck. I noticed the natives never used binoculars, they saw things I struggled to see even with 8X magnification. I wore an elastic "bino system" with my binocs, and the young tracker seemed to want to look like me. He never did use the binocs all day, the weight must have been troublesome, but he wore them just the same.
The trackers led off, I was in the back of the line and we looked like a 4 segmented insect as we slithered our way amongst the rocks and termite mounds. I watched as they sorted out the sign left by the 3 Eland. There was a bull, a cow and a jouvenile, not a newly born calf, but less than a full year old, was the guess. I studied the bulls tracks. I noticed on one foot the outer toe was shorter thant he inner, which created a distinct track. We entered a very sandy area that was free of leaves and grass, in this stretch, I noticed my normal walking pace was exactly the same stride length as the bull's. I watched from the back of the line as the first tracker was bent over watching the ground like a bird dog, while the second tracker would scant the landscape ahead for the actual animal. I could see the openings or gaps in the forest and I watched the 3 guides move in unison into these clearings. Soon I was able to watch the brush ahead and "know" where he walked with out even wathcing the rest of the group. I got so wrapped up in the tracking of this bull, I soon started to get the feeling of confidence, of "Fate", that this bull and I were going to have a meeting soon. I could sense his directional changes and I was careful to measure my paces. Each time I would look down, the bulls tracks were in stride with mine. I sort of giggled to myself at my discoveries and almost cocky persona of the tracking job. The game went on for hours, well into the afternoon, when the bull finally walked on to a very flat, open, rocky area. The smooth rock surface was impossible to track across and the group split up to try to find out where the bull came off of the shelf. I watched and daydreamed for almost a half hour until Allan came back and explained they had lost the track. I went back about 20 yards and started my stride/feel/see game again and as I neared the smooth rock surface, I felt the urge to move left, down the side of it. I moved to the right of a tree clump and I continued towards a big termite mound that was in deep shade. I passed the mound and the ground had a small amoung of dirt on it. The story was plain to see in that tiny amount of termite dust, the bulls track was right next to mine! I circled the track with my toe and I walked back to Allan. I was carefull in my wording, I didn't want to sound know it allish, as I was the guy who missed 2 shots already today. "They can't find the tracks and now they are almost praying they stumble upon them. The trackers don't want to look bad, but they don't want to leave after all of the talk about the size of this bull... they believe I will know something went wrong" Allan sort of looked amazed "They are walking in circles with their shoulders hanging and a glazed look in their eyes, a defeated look. Allan, I know where the bull went, I can show you his tracks" Allan's head snapped up and for the first time he really looked at me. "Show me" was his simple answer
I showed him my findings, the stride length, the natural movement through brush where it was least likely to rub on the massive bulls shoulders, the way I could flow like the bull and after the termite mound I showed him the bulls tracks. My circle was around the print with the funny toe. He whistled and the trackers quickly arrived. Allan showed them the circled track, I think he liked the circle as it further accented what they were again following. The conversation in Africonse was hard to follow but the gist was clear as glass. The guy they were tracking for was not just a big dumb American, he was a woodsman, a man who could follow spore on his own, a man who could see through their mistakes and games, a man who not only looked at the world, but SAW what was there.
The multilegged insect started throught the brush again, me bringing up the rear as before, now the whole group was "feeling" the way more than looking for spore. We were gaining ground on the herd, but we were still way behind. Darkness was soon closing in on us. The last rays of sunlight vanished and our stalk ended there, in the filtered light of sunset. Allan and the guys worked out an approximate location of the tracks and a guess of where to start again in the morning. We started the long walk back to the truck.
The drive in the dark was fantastic, I saw more night life and some different animals from before. I saw a ringtailed mongoose, spring hares, jackals and a wild cat flashed in and out of the head lights. We finally came across a few duikers, much less shy in the darkness. I took my bow and slipped to a better angle on a really nice bull. When the lights were dim enough to see my sights, I made a good shot and brought back a nice common duiker.

Not much farther and another set of eyes lit up the brush. "Jackal, shoot it quickly" I snapped Allans 22 Hornet to my shoulder and shot between the firey eyes as quickly as I could find them in the scope. They vanished with the sound and a quick slap on the back ensured me of a great shot. The trackers ran to the edge of the headlights and found I had not shot a jackal, but a nice female common duiker. The shot was where I expected and there was no wasted meat on this tiny delicacy. This duiker would be given to the trackers as a gift for a good day. I did manage to shoot a cape hare, a cotton tail duplicate, with lots of fleas, that the trackers took as food as well. The night turned out to be beautiful and productive. My journal notes talked of the stalk and the drive back, and also of the 40 impala, 4 warthog, 8 Zebra and many duikers we saw during our long trek after my eland. Today turned out very well, perhaps my luck was changing afer such a rough morning. We had a plan, it included a really big eland, a crazy kid from Iowa and a very, very long stalk... but that story is yet to be told.